


Lewd

by coy_koi



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Large Cock, Masturbation, Public Masturbation, Sex Addiction, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-16 12:19:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2269443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coy_koi/pseuds/coy_koi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston is friendlier than you think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lewd

There were they, on the streets, in the shops, exiting schools, entering tall business buildings. He was painfully surrounded by them, every waking moment of the day. Even as he sat in his lit room with a laptop he felt as he could still smell them. The light, whimsical fragrances of giggling nubiles, fresh and supple, and the more feline, darker perfumes of ripe women.  
Some days it'd get easier, he'd feel that constant charming pull of reddened lips and sway of the hips, but he'd manage it like a normal human being, walking properly along the pavement, climbing the steps to his apartment and continuing with his daily activities. But every few days, the demon would attack again - he would go to the store to buy groceries, and as he would step onto the crowded street, his mind would drown in the amount of women passing him. Everything from the slow, sensual blink of the eyelids to the curl of the naked toes would enchant him, to the point of maddening lust.   
Perhaps a tall, slim blonde would talk on the phone, her elongated neck would stretch into a perfectly shaped spine, tight hips and miles long legs, which just begged to wrap around his waist. Perhaps a luscious, curvy redhead would strut in front of him, observing clothes in the shop windows .   
Every woman was a fucking tease. He'd grit his jaw in frustration, shaking his head full of short curls, and adjusting his jacket so it covers his crotch area.   
A chaste brunette would walk by, with mousy hair, buttoned to her chin, in loose, celibate clothes, and his manhood would go wild. His head would be filled with images of ripping clothes from her, to reveal breasts with nipples hardening from embarrassment, while her cheeks blushed and blood rushed to her sex, engorging the soft tissue beneath a layer of curly black hairs. Her chaste little expression would give way to a full tilt whorish moan when he would introduce his hungry tongue to her slickening labia.   
The curvy redhead's full breasts would spill out of her bra, making the silky fabric of her top quiver with the bobbing motion of tits dying to be freed from the confines, while he was dying to be the one freeing them. He imagined them warm cushions smothering his face, he would dream of the firm little nipples rubbing against his fresh stubble. He wondered what would her loose, fleshy belly look like if he would lift her thighs and pinned her knees to her breasts. Oh the image of the layers of plump skin pressed together while he rammed his hardness inside the warm, soaked, fat pussy would had the said hardness throbbing painfully in the middle of the street.   
Sometimes, it'd be so hard, _so, so hard_ he'd run into the first clothing store, hide himself inside a dressing room, unzip the tight jeans and watch his cock bob out to greet him. He'd spit a copious amount of saliva onto his palm and wrap his long, elegant fingers around the girth with a quiet sigh and begin frantically getting himself off, so he can relax and try to resume his day.  
  
  
Even while he was a 16-year-old youngling, his sexual drive was high, very high. Nobody took it seriously, after all, he was a boy, but he never told anybody the full extent of his addiction:   
sometimes he would sneak into the girl's dressing rooms after gym class, and quietly as a spider on the wall, he'd snatch their used bras and knickers.   
Filling his backpack with the half-sweaty goods, he ran to the attic of his parents' home and get them all out. It became almost a ritual: he plastered his young face to the each of the cups and inhale. He did the same with knickers. There was a sweaty saltiness to it, mixed with the unmistakable uniqueness of each girl. He knew by heart how each of his classmates smelled like.   
His dick twitched at the aroma, thrilling sparkles of fantasies appeared, and he undressed himself, imagining girls rubbing their dainty, fresh bodies against his one, smiling and giggling as they teased him into hardness. Their lips kissing his lips, his chest, the hot head of his growing manhood.   
  
Those days... he'd come fast, being the excitable boy that he is.   
And his manhood continued growing. He knew it. He would stroke himself and think how perhaps... he was, indeed gifted.   
  
He got himself a girl. She looked up lovingly at him. He developed feelings for her. Emotional ones too.   
And there came a day when they had sex.   
Oh, the awaited touch of skin payed off: He grunted, frantically licking and savouring each part of her feminine body, downright worshipping the skin. He noticed her getting excited, past her original fear. He promised he wouldn't hurt her. Good God, _how_ could he hurt such a work of art that is the female body?  
When he finally parted her labia, the strength of the desire he felt was immense. At last he was here, at the fleshy entrance to his deepest lusts... the boy kissed her pussy. He moaned at the feel of the flesh against his lips. She moaned, feeling his craving.   
He sucked, he fluttered his tongue, he held back from thrusting while he pushed his finger inside her. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, his cock on fire with the luscious hunger to feel those tight, hot ripples slide and wrap around it.   
He made her come. And then he sated himself with a rough, uncontrolled thrust while she was still coming - she yelled from the pain. He stopped, terrified, apologetic, but eager to continue. He turned her on again with the sway of his tongue and the words which began rolling of it: he spoke of how beautiful and soft she is, how good her pussy tastes and how delicious it feels around his cock. He said he loves her and will make sure she screams with satisfaction. She whimpered and asked him to continue, so he did. He came within seconds.  
The rapture of tight warmth around the finishing twitches of his hardness was incomparable to the cold feeling of his fingers, and he resolved to fuck as often as possible, subsequently driving the girl away from him.  
That's the first time somebody acknowledged there was something too intense about him. Even he understood it. And there came attempts at fixing it.  
He tried to refrain from masturbating. It gave him painful erections.   
He then tried to masturbate more often and refrain from lustful thoughts in public. That worked for a very long time, even after the drama school, almost to this day. He buried himself in his work.  
But in his heart of hearts, the now grown-up sex addict knew that wanking up to ten times per day is not really normal.   
After so many years, he grew tired, so he just gave into his condition, which worsened. Every single woman would appear a tease, a treasure of wetness and delicious whimpers under all that make up and clothes.  
It made dating almost impossible. The few women that went with his river of lust didn't understand he wholeheartedly wanted their pleasure, he was only a tad obsessed with him being the one wringing it out of them. He thought it was romantic to travel all the way to Paris to surprise your girlfriend - so did she... He thought pulling her panties to the side two minutes into the course of the surprise would go hand in hand with the romance of the act, however, his girlfriend begged to differ.  
  
Again, he tried to get roles, and this time, it worked out for him.  
Apparently, his desire would quiet down only when he would literally become someone else. He was finally happy that he managed to channel his energy into something productive.  
He even managed to retain a certain level of professionalism in his private affairs, however, the fire was still burning strong.  
After a good deal of theatre plays - his specialty - he got his first serious TV role. Now people were starting to know who he is.  
There was only a little problem - his cock would itch and twitch uncontrollably while the foxy reporters asked him questions at galas, he had to refrain from looking down their cleavages.   
He was quite proud of how he looked: tall, lean, with well-structured bones, from the sharp cheekbones and a firm jawline (sturdy enough for couple of soft, lush thighs to close around, he thought with a chuckle), across the taut chest to the strong, athletic legs. Yet none of it was enough for him to gather real courage and approach a woman, admit his problem, and try to solve it.  
Therapy was also out of question. He had _way too much_ sexy psychiatrist fantasies - he'd get an erection three seconds into the session.  
So he continued doing what he does best - acting.   
With real effort came real results. He finally landed a major role in a movie, something that promised to get his name out there, where he could continue being an actor the rest of his life.   
He got the role of the Norse god, Loki, in a Marvel movie. So slowly he began researching his role, the original myth and all the varieties. With a deeper understanding of the character, he noticed there was a trait that is always present, but rarely mentioned or even highlighted: Loki was _charming_. Loki was _flirting_ with everything, Loki enjoyed _fucking with everyone's mind_.   
And that is something he rarely tried. It took him some time to find the appropriate deep well of such social bravery within himself, regardless of his education and training. But he found it.   
This time, he walked onto the set like he owned it, he acted with his most playful side - the one he hid in his darkest, most mischievous sexual fantasies. He was surprised with how much it helped him deal with his problem.  
When he accepted the fact the proud manhood squeezed in his tight trousers wants what it wants, and he started channeling desire at the camera - it payed off.   
Oh Lordy, how it payed off.   
Suddenly, there was a response to him in the shape of a female scream.  
At first, he didn't quite comprehend it, it was all too much - his attention consisted of flashing cameras and microphones shoved up his face which hid the real situation. But he felt it in himself. He felt the charming, the flirting. He felt the raw sexual appeal waiting to be expressed. So he played with it. Staring directly at the female interviewer's breasts, then licking his lips as he drank the blushing on her face - he saw the response. She crossed her legs.   
Oh it was like a gentle, fluttering caress to his cock.   
He licked his lips again, thinking about how her clit must have twitched, clit he would love to tickle with the very tip of his tongue.   
  
Within days, word spread around a bunch of screaming chicks were directing their flailing attention at him. Intrigued, flattered, he searched the Internet. And Sweet Jesus Almighty, the word was true.  
He found miscellaneous photos of himself, even the old ones, back when he was young and troubled, at the comments were... yummy.   
He licked his lips, lazily stroking his crotch through his slacks while he read.  
 _"Oh God I can't, he's so beautiful"_  
 _"Nope, nope, nope"_  
 _"Fucking hell,  there goes my new pair of panties"_  
 _"Oh look at his jaw, now there's my spot"_  
He chuckled, amused, tinglish. His chest heaved as he found the juicier comments, breathing getting rapid while he scrolled through the erotic stories featuring him.  
His mind was reverberating with the horniest, wettest fantasies these women had about him.  
It was.... he couldn't believe it, couldn't believe there were so many girls, so many women willing to engage themselves into the most depraved, kinkiest secrets because of him. He pushed his fingers into his slacks and started pumping the veiny, hardening cock.   
Oh yes, they noticed _that_ too.  
One time he was late to an event and didn't wear underwear. Immediately, a treasure chest of what seemed like a bunch of cock-hungry women wrote about that, analysed. He read about their lips on his cock, about how much they wanted to deep throat the entire length of it. About how it made their pussies wet.   
He moaned. Oh god, if there was something he adored above all, it was a ripe, swollen, wet cunt twitching with lust in front of him. He loved how they tasted like, ever since he took a first whiff of those schoolgirls' knickers. He growled in the darkness of his hotel room, pumping his hard, big cock with the thought of his fangirls pushing their gorgeous lips down its length.  
He came.   
Four times in a row.   
Every day, to say the least.  
  
He was in love with his shameless, soaked, lewd girls. He wanted to give everything he could - but with measure. Even though he wanked off to the fantasy of posting a video of himself doing just that online and then savouring the comments with an image of thousands of fresh, juicy pussies oozing their sweet cream for him, and him alone.... he refrained from doing that. It was bad publicity.  
So he decided to tease.   
By wearing no underwear. It made him hot all the time. He felt every pore on him pour out his inner sexuality. Unconsciously, he licked his lips all the time, as he lacked proper wetness there.   
When he would be asked to look into the camera and greet his screaming fans, he made sure he used his most smouldering shade of voice, with an adjoined look of sex - he stared into the camera, and while the words pronounced were friendly and chaste, his thoughts screamed all sorts of coveting perverseness:  
 _"I'm looking at you. Yes, you, you alone, my beautiful viewer. I know you want me. I know you bite your lip at the image of my face, I know your eyes wander off to where such a good little girl's eyes should never wander off to - my bulging cock. Ohh, yes, they do, don't deny it._  
 _But  I don't want you to be a good girl. I want you to be a wicked, wicked one. I want you to sigh and secretly whimper at each of my movements, thinking how you're crazy for imagining those movements to be sexual ones. And let me tell you a little secret: they are._  
 _Each time I lick my lips, each time I grit my jaw or squint my eyes - I crave your desire, girl. I want you to feel hot by me, I want you to allow yourself to fantasize about me fucking you, I want you to get aroused this very moment, while I'm looking at the camera as if I am looking at you._  
 _Are you aroused? Oh please tell me you are, it makes me feel so hot. I can already feel spasms of pleasure at the very head of my cock thinking about how I'm making you wet. Squirm in your chair, little one. Let the juices of your desire spread around the entire area."_  
He had to sit with his thighs apart. It was hard to comprehend, but the constant pressure of the tight fabric on his crotch made him feel as if there was a pair of buttocks and a round curve of a woman's hips pressing down on it sweetly.  
Everybody noticed it. Everybody. Even the moaning fangirls.  
So he used even that. He invoked the image in his mind, slowly making everyone in the room uncomfortable. He didn't care, he had the attention and the courage now. The courage to press upon imaginations and carve scenes of filthy sweetness into them: would a woman rubbing herself against his lap leave a stain there? And would she be brave enough to pull the zipper down and drag the hardness out? Would she, in her wild, erotic state of mind place her wet opening down on it and drown the girth inside her quivering, needy tightness?  
  
Weirdly enough - it had a marvelous effect on him: he regained control over himself. It's like he shared his itch with the lot of them, and while they were scratching it, he felt relieved. His life started coming together. And he was grateful.   
For when the intense hunger would appear, it was increased by tenfold - his private orgasms were out of this world, the high was higher than ever before.   
  
  
  
And today, as the man is getting out of the car and entering his hotel room, he is feeling mischievous.   
Opening his frequently visited searches, he undresses himself completely.   
_"This is getting insane! Hnnngh, he is the Satan!"_  
 _"Yes, he is. Oh God, I can't... I can't with those nipples showing, imagine licking them..."_  
 _"You take the nipples, I'll take to licking his neck"_  
 _"Move out of the way, I need to suck. His. Cock. Right. Now."_  
 _"It's not even noon here and I'm already dripping wet, pardon my French"_  
 _"What she said"_  
 _"He is doing this on purpose, I'm telling you, it's on purpose!"_  
He chuckled. Yes, he is doing it purpose.   
It was amazing how many of them are turned on by the idea of him dominating them. And sure, there were times when he would relish the imaginary whine of girls tied and begging for him to shove his cock down their throats, but this time... he just wants a full blown hunger, a released woman with a body to drown in, smelling of all the subtle perfumes of lust, massaging her breasts in front of him.   
He leans back in his chair and spreads his legs, looking down at his cock before back up at his rich fantasy. She is biting his lip while eyeing him up and down. He smiles and begins caressing his body: the neck, the pectoral, teasing his nipples, before sliding his hands up and down just like this woman would. He can feel the blood rushing through his body as he surrenders to pure lust.   
She is already moaning, this hungry fantasy of his, moaning with desire as she licks his body. His long, eager fingers trace his jutting bones, approaching his cock - and when the pads brush the skin, he lets out a languid, lecherous moan which reverberates the room.   
He wants it. His hands squeeze his already tight thigh muscles, and he digs his nails into the skin and roughly pulls back - like a woman would - to reach the bulging hardness. It is standing up proudly, wide, with veins bursting outwards on the velvety skin, with a salacious drop of precum oozing out. He imagines her mouth watering lick around the head. He imagines her lusting, sluttish whimper at the taste as a drop of her saliva coats it... He squeezes a good amount of lube in his palm and starts pumping his cock, spreading it around the desirous skin. Slowly. Very slowly.   
He imagines pushing her head away and teasing her like that, while she contorts her face into a pleading one, reaching her sweaty fingers down her body to play with her wetness.   
But not for long - his hunger is great and he allows her to straddle him and push her burning, soaked cunt down his pulsating shaft.   
He moans loudly, for a moment rising his hips out of the chair and tightening his grip on his cock with the image of that first slick dive into a craving pussy. Every muscle on his body is contracting while he pumps into his hand - his shoulders, the veins on the neck pop out as his forehead is covered with beads of sweat, his chest heaves with the low, sexual grunts he is emitting. His abdominal muscles are tightening as he starts rolling his narrow hips, imagining using her rippling walls to massage every inch of his cock.  
Her cunt swallows him wholly, as a good, tight, teased little cunt should, pouring out delicious wetness and coating him fully, as the motion of him rolling his hips has their sexes emitting the sloshiest sounds, filthy squelches. He quickens his pumping, emitting out growls as he imagines setting a punishing pace for his hungry fantasy, thrusting into her and making her whimper like a lecherous whore, which then has him jam into her harder, rutting inside her divine pussy with maddening lust.   
She spurts him on with her filthy words, and he finds himself digging the fingers of his other hand into his chair.   
He is close, so close the back of his neck is sweaty and his thighs tighten even more, invoking the blistering hot orgasm. His fantasy is dropping over her edge, screaming his name as her gorgeous tits bounce wildly up and down - and he can feel it: the tightening of her sex on his throbbing cock, the uncontrollable spasms which lash against it, drawing out his own climax.   
He feels the tight pull of his come as it bursts out in rich thickets, coating his fingers and landing on his stomach, his thighs, the part of the soft chair between his legs.   
For a couple of seconds, his moan robs him of his breath, and he stays tense like that, his muscles twitching, until it subsides and he exhales, slouching into his chair.   
He licks his lips slowly and bites them lewdly, as the thought of his woman dissipates from his mind and he slowly opens his eyes. His screen is still on in front of him, with the innumerous _gifs_ of his tiny teasing facial movements flashing on it, followed by a series of lewd comments.  
  
He laughs, wiping his hand with a tissue, finding himself once again fighting the urge to join in on the discussion and quite openly say:  
 _I would like to fuck each and every one of you wicked women into a screaming oblivion, until your hungry cunts quiver around my cock._   
...But no. He must not end his game so soon.  
  
 _Perhaps one day_ , he thinks to himself as he rises his long, taut body out of his chair and heads for the shower, spent and satisfied.  
  



End file.
